A FILM REVIEW OF "TROY" (2004)

"Das Boot" director Wolfgang Petersen shuns the gods in "Troy" (*** OUT OF ****) but doesn't suffer the consequences. This loose, long-winded adaptation of Homer's spear-and-sandal classic "The Iliad," about the legendary siege of the eponymous city and the hard-bodied combatants, who clashed swords, conjures up not only spectacle on a grand scale but also delivers charisma on an even grander scale. Traditionally, when we think about the Trojan War, we think about the adulterous Helen, who started it all when she cuckolded husband Menelaus and skipped Sparta with youthful Paris. After all, Helen's claim to fame rests on her comely features that reportedly launched a thousand ships. On the other hand, this revisionist, 21st century rendition spends more time admiring the abs of its heroes rather than the eyes of its anorectic heroines. Consequently, "Troy" ogles Achilles more often than Helen, and for good reason, too. Not since John Travolta buffed up for Sylvester Stallone’s abysmal "Staying Alive" (1983) has an actor so conscientiously dedicated himself to a muscular makeover.  Reportedly, Pitt spent six months building up his body.  Ironically, he pulled his Achilles tendon during the production.  Meanwhile, the producers make sure Brad bares his body early and often to display his magnificently sculptured biceps and six-pack.  This is not Brad Pitt as we are accustomed to seeing him.  He has a signature lunge as Achilles when he delivers the death blow with his sword that he repeats at intervals against his opponents that is visually striking.

 

Meanwhile, Petersen and scenarist David Benioff omits scenes of the Greek deities who would have divulged too much and ruined the suspense and tension in this mortals-only account of events.  A blond, bluffed-up Brad Pitt portrays Achilles as a pugnacious prima Donna.  He thumbs his nose at Agamemnon and lives for the moment in combat when he can attain his dream of immortality.  Compelling plotting and memorable dialogue bolsters this lengthy, but satisfying 162-minute, epic rehash of history's most celebrated ancient war. Nevertheless, despite its marathon length, skillful storytelling, and its secular, down-to-earth, reimagination of Homer, "Troy" has more going for it than the sum of its shortcomings. An impressive cast, including screen veterans Peter O'Toole and Brian Cox, Nigel Phelp's astonishing production values, the seamless integration of computer-generated effects with live action footage and several superbly staged combat sequences that have no equal in ancient actioneers offset whatever flaws in this $175-million plus, English language extravaganza.

The larger-than-life action opens in 1200 B.C.  King Agamemnon (Brian Cox of "The Glimmer Man") leads his army out to confront Triopas (Julian Glover of "For Your Eyes Only") on the field of battle. Agamemnon is an avaricious, warmongering opportunist. Triopas suggests Agamemnon and he avoid needless bloodshed by pitting the best of their best against each other.  This amusing prologue shows the womanizing Achilles as the greatest warrior of his day, a "Rambo" of antiquity, who can whip any adversary.  In his first, on-screen scrap, Achilles takes down an imposing Goliath-like opponent who makes our protagonist appear puny by comparison.  Size counts for little, because the smaller Achilles displays his agility in slaying his adversary with a single blow!  "Perfect Storm" director Petersen choreographs the action sequences with considerable flair and imagination, thanks in part to veteran James Bond stuntman Simon Crane.

The hand-to-hand combat appears not only believable, but also the actors wield their swords, shields, and spears with credible ferocity.  Later battles qualify as more than just aimless mob warfare with splendidly clad extras roughhousing it with their counterparts. Watch the way Achilles and his mercenaries cover themselves with their shields to repulse wave after wave of arrows.  The participants wield their armor with as much savvy as their swords and spears.  Meantime, the dialogue scenes that intersperse the gritty action are just as memorable. The theme of immortality pervades this fine example of an ancient world epic.  Ultimately, anytime Hollywood handles ancient history, the dialogue possesses an ersatz quality, but the lines here are insightful.

Indeed, Homer’s classic “The Illiad” inspired this illicit romance that prompted this war. Anybody who survived the 1960s should remember the classic Greek sagas such as "Jason and the Argonauts" (1963) and "Clash of the Titans" (1981). Every action on Earth generated corresponding action in the realm of the gods with Zeus lording it over his supernatural peers. "Troy" ignores the gods but doesn’t rank as a lesser effort for this neglect, though one can imagine how many more millions of dollars and minutes of time inclusion of the gods might have required. Generally, scenes with the gods serve to clarify terrestrial conflicts and clue us in on what we might have missed on Earth.

One of the shortcomings lies in the source material and its lack of explanation.  For example, audiences not familiar with Trojan mythology might have a difficult time understanding why an arrow through Achilles' ankle would prove so fatal. Petersen and Benioff scale down the action to mortals-only, and "Troy" looks as close to what could have happened if it happened. The beachhead landing (lensed in Mexico) emerges as the ancient equivalent of the sixth of June, D-Day landings in Normandy in World War II, with an armada of oar-driven ships crowding the sea from horizon to horizon.  You finally get to see the famous Trojan horse in the final 45 minutes.  Ace lenser Roger Pratt gives "Troy" a big-screen magnitude with his awesome long shots of virtually anything beyond arm's reach. When the opposing armies march against each other on the level lands in front of Troy, the spectacle is breathtaking in its scale.

Although Petersen and Benioff have tampered with the venerable plot, the action is worth-watching from fade-in to fade-out.  Achilles emerges as more of a villain, but Hector (Eric Bana of "Hulk") looks like a wrongly slain hero. Paris and Helen emerge as the least effectual lovers in a long time.  Naturally,  Orlando Bloom wields a bow and arrow.  Altogether, "Troy" ranks as a joy to watch!

 

FILM REVIEW OF ''KILLING THEM SOFTLY" (2012)

Connoisseurs of hard-boiled criminal melodramas should line-up for writer and director Andrew Dominik’s latest outing “Killing Them Softly,” (**** OUT OF ****) starring Brad Pitt, Ray Liotta, James Gandolfini, Sam Shepard, and Richard Jenkins.  Mind you, this isn’t a high-octane heist caper with edge-of-the-seat suspense, careening car chases, and scantily clad beauty queens.  If anything, “Killing Them Softly” qualifies as just the opposite.  Had I not read the page-turner Dominik adapted for this third feature film, I would have thought he was imitating Quentin Tarantino without the torture scenes.  Indeed, the first time I saw this atmospheric, but strictly small potatoes ‘disorganized crime’ thriller with its loquacious low-lifers, dismal urban locales, and ultra-violent, artsy-smartsy, shoot’em ups, I walked away with a low opinion of it.  Dominik adapted “Killing Them Softly” from the 216-page novel “Cogan’s Trade,” published back in 1974, long before Tarantino arrived in Hollywood.  Anybody who remembers the vintage Robert Mitchum movie “The Friends of Eddie Coyle” (1973), will savor this 97-minute epic.  The characters are unsavory hoodlums with foul mouths and itchy trigger fingers who love to talk about their individual peccadilloes.  A liquor-swilling James Gandolfini appears for three scenes and vanishes, while Pitt looks like a pirate, smokes like chimney, and sports a genuinely cynical attitude.  Unfortunately, this Brad Pitt movie doesn’t look like it was designed for mainstream, PG-13 audiences, any more than Dominik’s last picture, the obscure western “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.”  Nevertheless, although it looks like a hundred other forgettable, straight-to-video crime movies, “Killing Them Softly” is one of the coolest, all-male, crime movies you will enjoy.

“Killing Them Softly” draws its title from the protagonist’s method of killing people.  Chiefly, he doesn’t want to kill anybody who he knows.  The victim’s outburst of emotion and their pleas for mercy horrify him.  Basically, rather than killing somebody you know, you only rub out those you don’t know.  Ostensibly, this riveting crime thriller amounts to a series of long-winded conversations between hoodlums punctuated with gunplay.  While the novel took place in the 1970s, Dominik has updated it to 2008 during the Obama Vs. McCain presidential election.  Wall Street has just plunged America into the depths of a recession, and nobody is happy.  The economy is stalling out.  An unlucky ex-con Johnny Amato (Vincent Curatola of HBO’s “The Sopranos”) owns a dry-cleaning business.  He hatches a scheme with an accomplice, Frankie (Scoot McNairy of “Argo”), that involves knocking over a mob-protected poker game.  Everybody knowsif you try to steal from the mob, you can expect to die a hideous death.  Markie Trattman (Ray Liotta of “Goodfellas”) masterminded such a heist; he robbed his own game and then convinced the mob enforcers sent to sweat a confession out of him that he didn’t do it.  After Dillon (Sam Shepard of “Safe House”) and Kenny Gill (Slaine of “The Town”) rough Markie up, Markie goes back to business as usual.  One evening, with a different group of poker players, Markie lets it drop that he robbed his own poker game.  Nobody retaliates, but Johnny Amato decides if he doesn’t rob Markie’s new set-up that somebody will beat him to it.  Frankie isn’t so sure about the wisdom of Amato’s strategy.  Amato assures Frankie that everybody will remember Markie’s early treachery and the real hoodlums will get away scot-free with about $50-thousand.  Frankie and his wisecracking, heroin-shooting, Australian pal, Russell (Ben Mendelsohn of “Knowing”), burst in on Markie’s poker game and rob not only Markie but also his players.  Frankie wields an incredible, double-barreled, sawed off shotgun with the barrels cut so far back that you can see the shells with their green crimping sticking out.  No sooner than they hold up the game and escape, the mob in the anonymous city where the action unfolds imports a thug, Cogan (Brad Pitt of “Fight Club”), to straighten the situation out.  It seems that this second robbery has hurt the mob.  Nobody wants to gamble for fear they will be held up.  Cogan and a mob attorney, Driver (Richard Jenkins of “The Cabin in the Woods”), arrange the details and the pay-offs.  Of course, nothing goes according to plan for Cogan.  He hires an out-of-town torpedo, Mickey (James Gandolfini of “True Romance”), to whack Johnny Amato because Amato knows Cogan.  Again, Cogan has neither the patience nor the desire to watch Amato plead for his life before he blows his head to smithereens.

The late George V. Higgins captured the grimy underbelly of the criminal world in his 26 or so novels.  He shocked critics with his use of profanity.  Like Tarantino, Higgins possessed a droll sense of humor.  Higgins’ characters uttered the F-word as often as Al Pacino’s Cuban gangster did in “Scarface.”  Dominik has transferred “Cogan’s Trade” to the big-screen with enviable fidelity to the source material.  “Killing Them Softly” is one of the rare exceptions to the rule where the movie isn’t as good as the novel.  Sure, some things must have bit the editing room floor, but the film never wears out its welcome. When he isn’t faithfully duplicating Higgins’ irreverent dialogue, Dominik proves that he is a genuinely gifted director.  He shows what it is like for a heroin addict to carry on a conversation.  Furthermore, the little touches distinguish “Killing Them Softly;” you’ve never see a car door shut the way that Dominik depicts it.  Using television news clips from politicians during the 2008 Wall Street debacle, Dominik compares the criminal tendencies of Wall Street with hoodlums.  Nothing about “Killing Them Softly” is delicate, but its sense of irony will have you rolling in the aisles.

FILM REVIEW OF ''FIGHT CLUB'' (1999)

"Fight Club" (**** out of ****) is a knock-out!

Brad Pitt and Edward Norton co-star and spar in this bizarre but insightful bare-knuckled, no-holds-barred, pugilistic parable. "Fight Club" takes some mighty savage but satirical swings at consumerism, anarchy, and male impotence. "Se7en" & Alien 3" director David Fincher delivers another of his kinetically super-charged, darkly lensed, adrenaline-laced epics about guys gelded by a gilded society who come to life when they stain their fists with blood. At one point, Brad Pitt tells Edward Norton: Penned by "Jumper" scenarist Jim Uhls from Chuck Palahniuk's first novel, "Fight Club" appears to glorify violence, promote fascism, and degrade women. Instead, "Fight Club" denigrates the first, shows contempt for the second, and give Helen Bonham Carter her juiciest role in years.

"Fight Club" spins a yarn every bit as audacious, manipulative and exhilarating as Fincher's earlier opus "The Game." Edward Norton of "Rounders" serves as our narrator for this 140-minute marathon that goes the distance. Caged in a dead-end job, Norton files reams of car accident statistics for a major automaker. Essentially, he must calculate when the best interests of the company are served by paying off car crash survivors rather than demanding a recall. As the narrator states: "A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60 mph. The rear differential locks up. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? Take the number of vehicles in the field, A, multiply by the probable rate of failure, B, multiply by the average out-of-court settlement, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don't do one." Anyway, the narrator flies everywhere to inspect these wrecks and begins to suffer from more than occupational jet lag.

Inevitably, our anonymous narrator turns into a depressed white-collar insomniac. Lack of sleep drives him to the hospital. Incredibly, his doctor refuses to give him any drugs. He suggests instead that our narrator attend a support group for survivors of testicular cancer so that he can appreciate what constitutes real pain. Surprisingly, Norton discovers that he can purge himself emotionally without fear of humiliation. Afterward, his burden sloughed off, he goes home to his luxuriously appointed condo, hits the sack and sleeps like a baby. Franz Kafka couldn't have captured the malaise of modern society as crisply as Jim Uhls has in "Fight Club." Soon our unnamed narrator begins to gleefully orchestrate his life around these 12-step meetings and support groups for habits and diseases that he doesn't have. He is hooked and happy about until Marla Singer (Helen Bonham Carter of "Hamlet") spoils these gatherings. He knows that she is a fraud and fears she will expose him. They snarl at each other but call a truce and form an uneasy alliance. They will alternate nights at different groups so they won't collide with each other.

Marla poses few problems compared with Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt of "The Score"), a mysterious maverick of a man encountered by our hero during a bumpy plane ride. Durden epitomizes cool; he has everything our narrator lacks. Self-assured, scruffily clad, with all the hypnotic charm of a snake, Durden lurks around the narrator. When they form Fight Club, Tyler lists the rules: "The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club. The second rule of Fight Club is: you DO NOT talk about Fight Club! Third rule of Fight Club: someone yells "stop!", goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule: only two guys to a fight. Fifth rule: one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. Seventh rule: fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule: if this is your first time at Fight Club, you have to fight." Tyler attracts followers like a magnet. After an unknown arsonist destroys our narrator's condo, he hooks up with Tyler. They create "Fight Club," a form of underground tough man boxing.

Remember "Every Which Way But Loose," with Clint Eastwood or Charles Bronson in "Hard Times?" They fight in dark, dank basements. Fincher pulls no punches when the combatants start swinging at each other. Quite simply, these fights are brutal, especially when a pretty boy (Jared Leto of "Urban Legend") is battered to a pulp until he resembles the elephant kid. Only the knuckle-headed will exit "Fight Club" looking for an excuse to scrap. The friendship between Tyler and our hero takes some wildly out-of-control turns. Tyler takes "Fight Club" to other cities, and then movies to the next level with "Project Mayhem," a demolitionist's fantasy that involves destroying credit card corporations. Our hero balks at Tyler's outlandish aims and the mindless, skin-headed idiots that he recruits for his cause. But it isn't until the third act, so to speak, when "Fight Club" decks you with a shocking revelation: Tyler Durden may not be who we think he is.

"Fight Club" will send some audiences reeling in disgust at its sicko shenanigans—like when Durden urinates in the soap at an expensive restaurant where he waits tables. Don't ask what he puts in the clam chowder. When Tyler works as a projectionist at a movie theatre, he splices frames of male genitalia into family movies! If you cannot handle a film poling fun at you, you probably won't appreciate some of the subversive humor. Twentieth Century Fox appears to have gone out of its way to sanitize "Fight Club," but Fincher is such a good director that his visuals contain more bite than his narrative. Like in "The Game," where Michael Douglas' snotty rich guy had to run a grueling gauntlet—a present of sorts for the man who has everything—"Fight Club" lowers the boom on hypocrisy. The Uhls script brims with several snappy and quotable one-liners.

"Fight Club" will strike some people as pretty strange, too. Any movie that never reveals its hero's name, especially when he provides the narration, is probably too pretentious for its own good. Nevertheless, the performances are flawless, particularly the two leads as well as Meatloaf as Robert 'Bob' Paulson. Meatloaf plays the most outlandish character and milks the role for everything that it is worth. As Marla Singer, Helena Bonham Carter is equally as funny and brilliant as both Pitt and Norton. "Fight Club" emerges as an abrasive movie, and Fincher digs his satirical claws in deep. We live in a media jungle, and "Fight Club" smirks at the notion that we would want to destroy it to return to lives of quiet destitution. With "Fight Club," Fincher matches anything that Stanley Kubrick helmed in his prime and shows Terry Gilliam a trick or two.

"Fight Club" ranks as the main event of the millennium.